


The Birthmark on Your Shoulder (Reminds Me)

by arthur_pendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff and Angst and Humour, Jealous Arthur Pendragon, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon, Oblivious Merlin, Soulmates, misunderstandings galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/arthur_pendragon
Summary: “Anyidea how you’re getting these unique wounds?” Arthur said and took a long swig of tea. Merlin shook his head, unwilling to get into it with Arthur—there’s someone out there whose body, heart and soul are so irrevocably mine that my magic senses the bond and makes even the most piddling marks on their skin bloom on mine, but don’t worry, it’syouI’d rather buggered me into the mattress.-Merlin is absolutely determined not to let Arthur know how much Merlin is besotted with him. Not to mention there's someone else out there who is equally besotted with Merlin. (Could it be Arthur? Perish the thought!)





	The Birthmark on Your Shoulder (Reminds Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schweet_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/gifts).



> Based on the version of the soulmates AU that has one person bear all the marks on the other's body.
> 
> The title is from Mystery of Love, which I listened to a whole lot while writing this.
> 
> -
> 
> Dear Schweet,
> 
> Many, many happy returns of the day! I'm so sorry I was so late with this fic ;-; And I cannot believe I turned that angst-fest of a prompt into... whatever this is. My first draft was heartbreaking, so much that I cried and deleted it (I couldn't give you heartbreak on your BIRTHDAY) and wrote this fluff-angst-humour hybrid instead.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic <3

Warm summer air blew through the near-deserted courtyard, kicking up eddies of dust that glittered in the setting sunlight; they almost seemed like showers of stars to Merlin. He ambled through the open entrance with genial laughter and conversation from the surrounding town following in his wake, enchanted by the magic seemingly in the air.

“Merlin!”

Merlin looked up towards the source of the sound. Five floors up the adjacent castle, Arthur’s window had an occupant. Merlin waved merrily at him, shielding his eyes against the glare (of the sunlight, though Arthur’s was equally potent) with an arm. Even at that distance, Arthur’s eyeroll was discernible—or perhaps Merlin just knew Arthur too well.

“Stop wandering around and get back here already!” Arthur called, pointedly slamming the window shut and vanishing. Merlin sighed, grinning to himself. Two years in Arthur’s service, two as Arthur’s friend, and Arthur hadn’t grown any nicer to him; he had nearly broken out in hives that one time he’d forced himself to say _please, Merlin_ in front of Gwen.

The dark of the castle was refreshing; Merlin stood for a while in the vestibule, pressing the back of his neck against cool stone and closing his eyes. His errand at the edge of the lower town had proved fruitless. Technically, it wasn’t an errand, since neither Arthur nor Gaius had asked (or commanded) him to do it, but it _was_ for—

“Where _were_ you? Saddling me with Morris first thing in the morning and sneaking off like that—”

Merlin cracked one mischievous eye open to peer at Arthur. Arthur looked nothing and yet everything like the prince he was, standing with arms akimbo, frowning at Merlin. He was wearing his favourite white tunic, worn loose and nearly threadbare from use. Arthur spotted Merlin staring at the spread of skin that the tunic’s plunging neckline exposed and flicked Merlin’s chin.

“Eyes up here, Merlin,” he said, smug.

Merlin snorted. “My deepest apologies, sire. It’s just that your chest hair looks particularly regal today.” He pushed himself off the wall, dusting himself off and falling into step with Arthur.

Arthur’s hair was ruffled, messy, as if Arthur had been constantly running his fingers through it all day. It—and Arthur himself—shone in the meagre sunlight piercing the casements in the stone wall, golden rose and achingly perfect, leaving Merlin no choice but to ogle Arthur like a smitten fool again.

Arthur looked at him out of the corner of his eye, smirking. Merlin just beamed stupidly at him (it always made the blue of Arthur’s eyes soften). If only he had obtained what he had gone to the lower town for, if only—

The sound of the door closing jolted Merlin back to reality. He glanced around in confusion; they were in his room, at the back of Gaius’s workshop.

“I thought we were going to yours—” he began, and then Arthur’s lips were on his.

Merlin nearly thought he’d been away from Camelot for a decade, the way Arthur kissed him: searing and fervent, searching the plump curve of Merlin’s lower lip with his tongue and surrendering at the corners, cradling Merlin’s face in his calloused fingers and pulling him close, tilting his head to better lap at Merlin’s tongue. Merlin leant helplessly into the kiss; it was impossible not to, not when Arthur was so open, affectionate—impossible to not desperately hold onto Arthur and promise himself never to let go.

“C’mon,” he mumbled into Arthur’s mouth. “’m not a weakling. You can bite a bit more.”

Arthur dutifully nipped at Merlin’s lips, gazing at him through half-closed eyes, smiling softly and sending Merlin’s heart leaping to the skies.

“Off with it, then,” he whispered. Merlin’s eyes shuttered despite themselves—Arthur mustn’t see the sheer adoration in them, his head was humongous enough without Merlin feeding his ego—and reached behind his head for the collar of his own dirty brown shirt, pulling it up and over.

Arthur inhaled, running his fingers over Merlin’s ribs. Merlin knew there were purple bruises stark against his pale skin there. They didn’t hurt. They weren’t his.

“And where are _these_ from?” he asked, resting his forehead against Merlin’s.

“Don’t know,” Merlin gasped, keeping his eyes closed, arching as Arthur’s hands slid around to the small of his back, fingertips dipping, tantalising, _just_ past the waist of Merlin’s trousers. “Oh, you fucking tease.”

“Language,” Arthur said, nuzzling Merlin’s face, so close that Merlin felt the brush of Arthur’s eyelashes against his cheek, the warmth of Arthur’s breath mingling with Merlin’s own.

“You love it,” Merlin whispered, smiling.

“Absolutely incorrect.” Arthur kissed him again, and it was a while before Merlin let him part, licking indolently at the seam of Arthur’s mouth even as Arthur spoke. “I fucking hate it.”

Merlin laughed, grabbing Arthur’s wrists and trying to push his hands down past the boundary of his waistline. “Who knew you’d be so needy after just a day without me?”

“You’re growing more insolent by the day,” Arthur said and withdrew his fingers from Merlin’s back. “Needy? Me?”

“Who else?” Merlin said, turning around before Arthur could voice the request in his eyes.

“Gods, Merlin,” Arthur groaned. Merlin shivered as Arthur rubbed a heavy hand up his spine, wondering at Arthur’s unusual reticence. “Where did you get these marks?”

“What marks?”

“These… welts on your lower back, Merlin, did you go off to get flogged today—”

“Without your permission? Wouldn’t dream of it—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Arthur said, wrapping an arm round Merlin’s middle and hugging him close, burying his face in Merlin’s neck and breathing in deeply. Merlin shivered.

“Usually you can’t stop whinging about my smell.”

“I said shut up.”

“And now look at you, randy for me, _sire_ —”

“Filthy strumpet,” Arthur sighed, getting his feet under Merlin’s and shuffling them both over to the bed. Merlin gladly lay down first, the weight of Arthur on top of him a panacea for his heartache.

Arthur kissed him, languorous and careful, one last time before drifting off. Merlin’s heart stuttered at the almost forlorn expression in Arthur’s eyes when he’d thought Merlin too sleepy to notice.

* * *

“They appeared again,” Merlin told Gaius the next morning. Arthur had returned to his chambers, well before dawn broke—something about how being seen exiting Merlin’s room by Gaius was more humiliating than being put in the stocks as a rebellious child.

Gaius pursed his lips, letting Merlin take over breakfast preparation for him. “Your fated one is even clumsier than you, it seems.”

“At least you don’t think I’m lying to spare you like Mum did; _she_ thought I was regularly getting into fistfights with all the other children in Ealdor, when all I used to do all day was swim in the nearby lake.”

Gaius chuckled. Merlin was glad to see he looked less troubled. The random appearance of bruises, lesions, marks on his body hadn’t harmed him so far, and caused him none of the pain they ought to have—Merlin had got well used to it as a child, though sometimes it was hard to distinguish between his own injuries and the “fake” ones.

“Gwen was asking after you,” Gaius said, once Merlin had served him his porridge. “She saw you yesterday, in the lower town.”

“Oh.” Merlin flushed.

“You told me you were with Arthur all day.”

Merlin didn’t dare look at Gaius, lest his eyebrow drag the truth from him; but he spilled the beans anyway. “It was just—I was looking for something special to present to Arthur on his birthday and needed to be alone.”

Gaius said nothing as he slowly ate, which only served to make Merlin explain further. “I was looking for—I wanted to buy some gold. To forge a ring.” His blush deepened as Gaius smiled.

“Very well,” Gaius murmured wryly.

Merlin couldn’t get out of the infirmary quick enough. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide what he felt for his friend, his prince—it was _disgusting_ how besotted he was with Arthur—but it wasn’t as if he and Arthur were lovers. They were simply—bedmates. That was it. And to even consider that Arthur might find out about the true depth of Merlin’s adoration for him was a humiliating thought, because he was sure that Arthur didn’t harbour anything more than passing lust for him.

The kitchens were bustling with activity; Merlin retrieved the tray meant for the prince and walked around, grabbing things here and there—a few figs, a bunch of grapes, a loaf of fresh, soft wheat bread and a hunk of melty cheese, a cup and pot of steaming hot tea, all the while avoiding the head cook’s gleaming eye. All Arthur’s favourites. He grinned to himself, imagining the look on Arthur’s face when he saw the bread.

* * *

“Let’s see them, then,” were Arthur’s first words to Merlin as he stumbled in with the food.

“They don’t show up _every_ day,” said Merlin, placing the tray down at Arthur’s table. “And why are you awake already?” Arthur had taken to waking up well before Merlin could get to him—Merlin didn’t like to admit it, but not being able to see Arthur’s sleeping face in the mornings left him feeling strangely out of step with himself and dissatisfied the entire day.

“I’m Crown Prince,” Arthur said, as if that was a catch-all answer. He was already sitting at the table and reached for the cheese with interest. “Take your shirt off, Merlin.”

Merlin sighed loudly. “There aren’t any bruises today, I checked. Why do they interest you so much?”

Arthur shrugged around a mouthful of bread. “Magic,” he said, muffled. “They’re magic, and magic interests me.”

Merlin’s heart skipped a beat. Arthur had never willingly discussed sorcery even once since the whole incident with the Questing Beast a year ago; and if anything, Merlin had expected him to be condemnatory again, not whatever _that_ had just been.

“Is that—is that so,” he stammered. Arthur waved a hand at him in a gesture that Merlin knew well meant _get on with it._

Merlin untied his scarf and hung it over the back of the chair closest to him. He reached for the edges of his tunic and hesitated; he hadn’t actually checked himself over. But Arthur’s eyes were trained on him and Merlin hated to disappoint him in any way except the mundane (in his defence, it was heart-warming to see Arthur sulking and wine-drenched), so he pulled the tunic off and stood bare-chested.

Arthur smiled brilliantly.

“Would you look at _that_ ,” he said. Merlin looked down to see—

“What the fuck.”

A crudely-drawn flower blazed red on Merlin’s stomach. Merlin burst into laughter despite himself, Arthur joining him.

“ _Any_ idea how you’re getting these unique wounds?” Arthur said and took a long swig of tea. Merlin shook his head, unwilling to get into it with Arthur— _there’s someone out there whose body, heart and soul are so irrevocably mine that my magic senses the bond and makes even the most piddling marks on their skin bloom on mine, but don’t worry, it’s_ you _I’d rather fucked me into the mattress_ —sucking his lip in as a daring idea came to him.

Arthur almost choked on a grape when Merlin straddled him, a mischievous glint in his eye as he took both fruit and drink out of Arthur’s hands and leant in to lick the winey sweetness of the berries right out of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur exhaled, hands wiping themselves roughly on his trousers and settling on Merlin’s hips.

“Who’s the randy one now,” he murmured.

“Still you,” Merlin answered, grinding down, thrilled to feel Arthur growing hard against his thigh, through the loose nightclothes.

Arthur snorted. Merlin smiled into the kiss and reached for Arthur’s nightshirt, fingers sliding underneath to rest against smooth, hot skin—

“Bad idea,” Arthur said, halting Merlin’s hands in their tracks, gripping his wrists tightly.

Merlin pulled back to frown at him, nosing Arthur’s cheek. “But you—”

“Haven’t got the time,” Arthur said, but he looked shifty. “Perhaps later.”

Something leaden and prickly settled in Merlin’s chest as he slowly got off Arthur’s lap. “And will I be dressing you _today_ , sire?” he asked quietly, the air in the room suddenly chilling.

Arthur pushed his unfinished breakfast at him. “D’you want the rest?”

“It’s just very odd,” Merlin pressed on, laughing awkwardly, picking at the lone fig on the tray. “You have me in your bed all the time, but you’ve never let me see you bare, even though I’m supposed to be your manservant, even though I wash out your _chamber pot_ —”

“It’s nothing,” Arthur sighed. “I thought you’d be happier about one fewer chore to do. I still rely upon you for everything else, don’t I?” His hand came up to stroke Merlin’s jaw, brushing downwards over Merlin’s neck, fingers trailing over a collarbone, a nipple that eagerly stiffened under Arthur’s familiar touch— “It’s unimportant.”

“Of course,” said Merlin dully. Half of him was still stuck in the past—it seemed like the last ten minutes, the rush of heat and passion between the two of them had been a dream, and now someone had poured freezing water over him.

Arthur refused to meet his gaze. Merlin’s hands curled into fists as he spotted the forlorn look reappear on Arthur.

“Would you just tell me what’s going on? Clearly there’s something troubling you that you’re hiding from me, Arthur. I’m your friend, I hate to see you struggle alone like this.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, his real feelings all too transparent to Merlin’s keen eyes. “Goodness’ sake, Merlin, you’re just seeing things. Go fetch me some ale, will you?”

Merlin left, and by the time he returned with a flagon, Arthur had changed into his garb for the day. He helped Arthur into his armour, mute, not wanting to speak lest he stick his foot in his mouth and push Arthur away even more than he apparently already had.

Arthur ducked in for a brief kiss at the corner of Merlin’s mouth when Merlin reluctantly finished strapping his vambraces on, in something resembling an apology. Merlin smiled at him for want of anything else to do.

* * *

Merlin saw his opportunity to crib about Arthur a few days later, when Gwen and Morgana roped him into holding their cloth bolts and thread spools for them.

“Does he have a deformity somewhere that he doesn’t want to tell me about?” Merlin demanded. “Or am _I_ the problem? He seemed to be just fine with _Morris_ pulling his clothes off all the time.”

Gwen hid a smile behind her hand. “I’m sure that’s not the case, Merlin.”

“Really, Gwen? Really?” Merlin waved the roll of fabric in his hand around in indignation. A couple of guards marching past the three of them (it was a busy time of day and the courtyard was crowded) snickered at Merlin, somehow bowing respectfully to Morgana at the same time.

“Honestly, Merlin, there isn’t a thing we could tell you that would leave your feelings unhurt,” said Morgana, not looking up from her embroidery. “Either he does have a deformity and doesn’t trust you, which I frankly don’t think is the case; the rest of the girls and I used to follow him and his loutish friends to the river in the woods—don’t _look_ at me like that, you’d do the same in a heartbeat—or he’s perfectly fine and still doesn’t trust you. Which would you rather have as the truth?”

Merlin drew up short.

“Well, my _lady_ ,” he began, offended for some reason, but right then Gwen gasped and grabbed his hand. Merlin groaned. Perfect. Simply perfect. A red weal was forming on his forearm, in plain view of both Gwen and Morgana.

“This is the most interesting thing that’s happened all month,” Morgana said, tossing her embroidery circle aside in relief. “What _is_ that? An allergic reaction to navel-gazing?”

Merlin glared at her, knowing full well he could be sent to the stocks for that affront, but she merely winked at him and leant in to observe the rapidly purpling mark. It looked as if someone had hit Merlin hard with a stick.

“Does it hurt?”

“No. I don’t know how it—”

“Oh, don’t try to lie to me, Merlin,” said Morgana, and smiled reassuringly at a pale Merlin. “It isn’t as if _I’m_ going to go running to Uther.”

Merlin flushed, even though he hadn’t assumed that for a moment. Morgana rolled her eyes and picked up her circle again before seemingly thinking better of it.

“Up for a bit of swordplay, Gwen?”

And before Merlin could say another word, she and Gwen had abandoned their pastime and dashed off.

Gwen came hurrying back, though, but only to give Merlin a tiny parcel wrapped in paper and muslin— “I almost forgot! Gaius told me you needed some, I wish you’d just asked me; I _do_ have my own forge, Merlin—” and returned to Morgana.

Merlin slowly unwrapped the bundle, heart in his throat. It couldn’t possibly be—but it was. In Merlin’s palm lay a small gold nugget laced with copper for strength, the perfect amount he’d need for his present to Arthur. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut in delight, already making plans to steal away to the forest to work his magic in peace.

“And what’s that?”

Merlin jumped about a foot in the air. The nugget almost dropped from his hands, but Arthur’s hands closed around his own and prevented a small disaster from occurring.

“I never thought I’d live to see the day,” Arthur said, sitting down cross-legged beside him, “that I manage to surprise you.”

Merlin scoffed. “One time, Arthur.”

“What d’you need the gold for?”

“Nothing,” said Merlin, rewrapping the gold and tucking it safely into his pocket. Arthur bumped shoulders with him, smiling sheepishly.

“Are you not telling me as turnabout for the other day?”

Merlin chanced a look at Arthur. He looked handsome as ever and had shed all his armour (which explained the once-in-a-lifetime surprise he had just achieved). Instead, he was now wearing a loose red tunic secured around the waist with a belt—Merlin’s favourite of Arthur’s tunics this time. Merlin’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Arthur staring right back at him.

“Don’t you have drill?”

“Ended it early,” Arthur said, “and got Morris to help with the armour and clothes.”

Merlin’s mood soured. For no reason at all.

“And now I have two hours to myself,” Arthur continued, looking at Merlin meaningfully. “I’d like to make amends for my actions, if I may.”

Merlin ached to give in—Arthur was leaning in steadily for what Merlin was _sure_ would be a devastating kiss, in front of all the people in the courtyard, no less—but the gold was a heavy weight in his pocket and Arthur’s birthday was only a few days away. Preparations had already begun; King Uther had invited travelling minstrels and the second-best singer in Albion after the sadly-departed Lady Helen for the occasion, not to mention most of Camelot’s allies (and their daughters and nieces) from the surrounding kingdoms.

In the face of all the impending grandeur and opulence, all that Merlin possessed to give Arthur was this insignificant band that he knew Arthur would just put away in his cupboard—and if he didn’t finish forging it in time, he would have but air for Arthur.

“I have to get a ring made with the gold,” he said, right as Arthur’s mouth touched his. Arthur froze and pulled away, bewildered.

“For _whom_?” he said, laughing in bemusement. “Don’t tell me you intend to propose _marriage_ to some village lass.”

Merlin swallowed and looked away. The village lass he wanted to propose to was a poncey boy far out of his reach.

“Do you?” Arthur said, suddenly sombre. “Have you had someone all along that you’ve wanted to—”

“Well, I wasn’t going to reveal this to you, but I… I suppose I do,” Merlin began, wondering at Arthur’s recent inability to make any sense and if Merlin should just go on and spoil the surprise, tell Arthur that he belonged wholly to him, but Arthur rose to his feet and dragged Merlin up with him.

Merlin opened his mouth to express his utter confusion again but Arthur strode off, tugging Merlin in tow, and then Merlin was too busy trying to stay on his feet to say anything.

A whole five flights of stairs and ten minutes of Merlin panting and sweating later, Arthur pulled Merlin into a guest room beside his own and pinned Merlin against the door. Merlin’s hand came up to clutch at Arthur’s tunic, wrinkling the fabric. Merlin wistfully imagined he could feel Arthur’s skin under the cotton.

“Merlin,” Arthur started. “There’s something I have to tell you. That I _had_ to tell you.”

“And?” Merlin replied, softly stroking Arthur’s chest and hooking a leg around his calf. He’d confess soon. Perhaps after a kiss or two; Arthur’s mouth looked particularly cherry-red and Merlin wanted a taste if Arthur would give him one. It wasn’t as if he’d be able to sneak off to the woods _now_.

“But it’s irrelevant now,” Arthur continued, slowly turning Merlin around and stepping in close, sandwiching Merlin between himself and the wood of the door. Merlin held his breath as Arthur slid his hands up Merlin’s shirt, back to his favourite spot to rove about.

“What’s so special about my shoulder?” Merlin simply had to ask once Arthur started blindly nosing it. Arthur inhaled deeply; Merlin went still, hearing something like a choke escape his beloved prat before Arthur whispered:

“Proof.”

And there again Arthur’s proclivity for spouting nonsense made an appearance. Merlin swore under his breath in annoyance and turned back to Arthur, having to push and shove a bit since Arthur was being unhelpful in every sense of the word— “You’re going to be a shit king, I hope you know,” he snapped, and then was struck dumb as he saw Arthur’s mouth twisted in misery.

“Hey,” Merlin whispered, all the fight draining out of him.

Arthur closed his eyes and took a ragged breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and that shocked Merlin more than anything else ever would. “Leave me, please.”

Merlin did so, unwise decision though it was; and it was only later, in the sanctity of Gaius’s isolated, fragrant workshop that it occurred to him that Arthur would never have requested something like that of _Merlin_ before.

* * *

The rest of the week rushed past Merlin in a blur. He noted with no little chagrin that Arthur and Gaius between the two of them kept Merlin busier than anyone else in the castle; he was always fetching something for Gaius, hanging something else on the wall for Arthur, doing Gaius’s usual medicine deliveries for him, polishing every bit of metal Arthur owned—all in addition to his usual duties, which meant Merlin collapsed in a limp heap onto his snug little bed every night and didn’t even have the capacity to consider the lump of gold hidden away with his grimoire.

One day before Arthur’s birthday, Merlin put his foot down and ran away before either Arthur could find him, or Gaius.

The blazing afternoon heat lost most of its strength in the woods as Merlin stumbled off-path through the trees, searching for a spot he could occupy undisturbed. It took Merlin an hour of wandering before he found a convenient log to sit on and a surrounding thicket dense enough to warn him should anyone be nearby.

The gold nugget glittered in Merlin’s hands as he cradled it reverentially. He hadn’t risked smuggling the grimoire along but had sketched on a piece of parchment (shamelessly nicked from the court historian) a rough diagram of what he wanted the ring to look like, as well as the spell he would need to shape the metal.

He closed his eyes and whispered the words.

* * *

It was midnight when Merlin crawled back to Gaius’s.

It had taken a _lot_ of effort, more curses, and even more bombardment by stray stones—Merlin’s aim wasn’t the best—but at last, he had a present worthy of the Crown Prince of Camelot. Merlin’s ring finger ached; he had omitted to take Arthur’s measurements amidst all the chaos of the past week and thus had had to try the band out on his own hand multiple times before deeming it satisfactory.

He hoped Arthur would like it.

* * *

Dawn broke on Arthur’s birthday, and Merlin awoke with a grin. He’d ensured the day would go perfectly. He knew exactly what to get Arthur for all his meals, what clothes Arthur would look best in. He’d even gone all out and scrubbed Arthur’s armour until it resembled mirrors—not even the king would be able to say a word in criticism.

“Gaius, I’ll make the broth, could you get some bread,” he said, yawning as he pushed open his door, and stopped short.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes over and over, and yet the vision of Arthur anxiously proffering his hand to Gaius would not disappear.

“Ah, Merlin,” said Gaius, not looking up from his examination. “Good morning. Would you care to join us?”

Merlin silently ambled over to him, trying to catch Arthur’s eye. Arthur was in his nightclothes and seemed as if he hadn’t got a wink of sleep all night, eyes close to bloodshot and hair a ruffled mess. He wouldn’t look at Merlin and coloured as soon as Merlin sat down next to Gaius.

“I think you owe the prince an explanation,” Gaius said, not unkindly.

Arthur and Merlin both frowned at him.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur said, well before Merlin could get a word in.

Gaius sighed through his nose. “It seems—well, I’d rather give Merlin the chance to redeem himself. I’ll just go buy fresh bread from the town, shall I?” And he was gone before Merlin could get a word in this time, too.

Arthur swallowed, eyes downcast. Merlin stared at him.

“Is there something wrong with your hand?” he asked, grabbing Arthur’s wrist and trying to emulate Gaius. All the lines on Arthur’s palm seemed perfectly normal. They were probably supposed to be there.

“I was just showing him this,” Arthur said hoarsely, flipping his hand over to show Merlin his knuckles, just beyond one of which was the unmistakable indent of a—

“Oh, no,” said Merlin, cottoning on.

“And I was going to ask him about these as well.” Arthur tugged his hand out of Merlin’s grasp and closed it around his nightshirt. Merlin’s eyes widened. Now of all times? Really?

“You got married, didn’t you? Yesterday,” Arthur said, finally exposing his torso to Merlin, showing him the various bruises and cuts on it. Merlin felt a grin widening on his face despite all his struggles to tamp it down. “I did a few tests, you know. Scratched a daisy onto my stomach, let my knights clobber me for once. _Everything_ on my body appeared on yours and I was so certain that you felt for me the same love I did for you—are you smiling, you clod?”

“No,” Merlin said, beaming.

Arthur’s glare turned unsure, but he kept going. “Morgana talked to me about this… this soul-bond born of your magic, she called it. We’re each other’s, I thought; since your clumsy antics mark themselves on my skin as well—I _checked_. But you’ve gone and wedded and bedded your village girl already.”

“Do me a favour, sire,” Merlin said, rising to his feet. “Try not to move until I return.”

Merlin practically floated to his room and back, and the gobsmacked look Arthur gave him when he revealed the ring to Arthur and slid it onto his finger with a soft whisper of, “Happy birthday,” was simply divine.

* * *

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” Arthur said, leering up at him.

Merlin scowled at him and tugged on his hair, trying to get him to do that once more—ah. Arthur did. For a whole two seconds.

“Have you?” Arthur asked, pulling away. Merlin moaned and threw his head back, refusing to see the insufferably smug expression on Arthur’s face.

“Come on,” Arthur said, eventually acquiescing and wrapping his lips around Merlin again. Merlin sighed, gently thumbing Arthur’s rosy mouth.

“I’ve learned my lesson, sire,” he droned—poorly, since Arthur at that very moment put his tongue to good use. “I shouldn’t have hidden my magic from you, nor shall I ask you to suck my cock on _your_ birthday ever again.”

“Good boy,” Arthur said, mouthing at Merlin. “Though I don’t particularly mind the latter, my love.”

“Promise you won’t go and flirt with all those noblewomen tonight,” Merlin gasped, toes curling.

“There’s only one girl I want to flirt with for the rest of my life.” Arthur smirked.

“And only one village lass I want to marry,” Merlin shot back, laughing.

“It’s all right, I’ll marry you,” Arthur said, crawling over Merlin on the cot, kissing him deeply. “Since no one else would be stupid enough to.”

“No one else would be stupid enough to leave the door half-open, either, sire,” came Gaius’s long-suffering voice from outside.

Merlin shut the door with a wave of his fingers, sharing a horrified look with Arthur before dissolving into helpless laughter and gleefully ruining the mood.

**Author's Note:**

> The "proof" that Arthur talks about on Merlin's shoulder is the imprint of the Questing Beast's bite on _Arthur's_ shoulder. Die of the Merthur with me.
> 
> -
> 
> Once again, happy ~~belated~~ birthday, dear friend. I hope the following year gives you nothing but peace of mind and the time to pursue that which makes you happiest.
> 
> <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For the Love (For Laughter)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749373) by [arthur_pendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/arthur_pendragon)




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